they soon disagreed, and he returned to England and was for a time manager of a company of comedians at Chester. In the winter of 1750 he returned to London, and was at once engaged at Covent Garden. For three seasons he performed at Covent Garden, and on the 20th December, 1753, he took his farewell of the stage, having determined, old as he was, to adopt a new career in life. This was the establishment of a tavern in Covent Garden on a new principle. Ladies were invited to attend it, lecture rooms were fitted up, and lectures on subjects in arts, sciences, history, literature, &c., were delivered. At first the novelty of the thing caused it to appear successful, but after a time its utter failure became only too apparent, and Macklin had to return to the stage. In 1757 he went to Ireland with Barry. On December 28, 1758, his wife died, and in December, 1759, he returned to Drury Lane. Soon after this appeared the first of his really successful plays, Love à la Mode. This met with opposition for a night or two, but it forced its way into favour, and was afterwards, according to a writer in The European Magazine, "received with unbounded applause." Still continuing on the stage, in 1761 he produced The Married Libertine, a comparative failure; and 1764 his master-piece The Trueborn Scotchman, afterwards called The Man of the World. In November, 1767, appeared his farce The Irish Fine Lady, which lived only a single night. On the 28th of November, 1788, while performing in the character of Sir Pertinax MacSycophant, his memory failed him. On the 10th January, 1789, the same thing happened while he was engaged with Shylock, but after an affecting speech to the audience he recovered himself and completed his part. On the 7th of May following he attempted to perform Shylock in his own benefit, but another actor had to take his place, and he was led off the stage never to appear on it again. At the age of almost a hundred he was thus thrown upon the world, but his friends stood by him, and a subscription was started for the publication of his two popular pieces, Love à la Mode and The Man of the World. This produced altogether over £2600, with which an annuity was purchased and his more immediate wants supplied. For the remainder of his life he visited the theatre almost every night, where he sat unable to hear and apparently unconscious of anything. At last, at the great age of a hundred and seven years, his life flickered out on the 11th of July, 1797. He was buried in St. Paul's, Covent Garden. Of Macklin's writings only his Love à la Mode and The Man of the World have lived, and these are almost as well known to-day as when the author died. Their language is plain and natural in the extreme, and the delineation of character which they contain is of the highest kind. In all the wide field of dramatic literature we know of nothing to excel Sir Pertinax MacSycophant, a character which the people of Scotland have long ago wisely refused to look on as a satire of themselves, but as a type of a class of men that may be found in every nation under the sun. Sir Archibald MacSarcasm in Love à la Mode is also a capital character; as are also Sir Callaghan O'Brallaghan and the little Jew Mordecai. Betty too, the sly mischief-maker, so virtuous, yet so full of evil innuendos, is also true to nature; and, indeed, scarcely a character in the two plays but is worthy of careful study and first-class acting.] A MISCHIEF-MAKER.1 [Sidney is a chaplain in the house of Sir Pertinax MacSycophant. Constantia is a poor dependant of the family whom everybody, including Charles Egerton the son of Sir Pertinax, likes so well that the maid Betty determines to find some fault in her, and now she at length thinks she has good foundation for a story which she tells the chaplain as follows.] SIDNEY Solus. Enter BETTY.' for my intrusion, sir; I hope, sir, I don't disBetty. (Running up to Sidney.) I beg pardon turb your reverence. Sid. Not in the least, Mrs. Betty. sir; but I wanted to break my mind to your Betty. I humbly beg you will excuse me, honour about a scruple that lies upon my consumed to trouble you, sir, but that I know science; and indeed I should not have preyou are my young master's friend, and my the whole family (curtsying very low); for, to old master's friend, and, indeed, a friend to give you your due, sir, you are as good a preacher as ever went into a pulpit. Sid. Ha, ha, ha! do you think so, Mrs. Betty? Betty. Ay, in truth do I; and as good a 1 This and the next scene are from The Man of the World. gentleman, too, as ever came into a family, and one that never gives a servant a bad word, nor that does any one an ill turn, neither hind their back nor before their face. man; for, though she looks as modest as a maid at a christening-(hesitating)—yet—ah! be--when sweethearts meet in the dusk of the evening, and stay together a whole hour in the dark grove, and embrace, and kiss, and weep at parting-why, then, you know, sir, it is easy to guess all the rest. Sid. Ha, ha, ha! why, you are a mighty well-spoken woman, Mrs. Betty; and I am mightily beholden to you for your good character of me. Betty. Indeed, it is no more than you deserve, and what all the world and all the servants say of you. Sid. I am much obliged to them, Mrs. Betty; but, pray, what are your commands with me? Betty. Why, I'll tell you, sir;-to be sure, I am but a servant, as a body may say, and every tub should stand upon its own bottom; but (she looks about cautiously)-my young master is now in the china-room, in close conference with Miss Constantia. I know what they are about, but that is no business of mine; and, therefore, I made bold to listen a little; because, you know, sir, one would be sure, before one took away anybody's reputation. Sid. Very true, Mrs. Betty; very true, indeed. Betty. O! heavens forbid that I should take away any young woman's good name, unless I had a good reason for it; but, sir (with great solemnity), if I am in this place alive, as I listened with my ear close to the door I heard my young master ask Miss Constantia the plain marriage question; upon which I started and trembled, nay, my very conscience stirred within me so, that I could not help peeping through the key-hole. Sid. Ha, ha, ha! and so your conscience made you peep through the key-hole, Mrs. Betty? Betty. It did, indeed, sir; and there I saw my young master upon his knees-Lord bless us! and what do you think he was doing?kissing her hand as if he would eat it; and protesting and assuring her he knew that you, sir, would consent to the match; and then the tears ran down her cheeks as fast Sid. Ay! Betty. They did indeed. I would not tell your reverence a lie for the world. Sid. I believe it, Mrs. Betty; and what did Constantia say to all this? Betty. Oh-oh! she is sly enough; she looks as if butter would not melt in her mouth; but all is not gold that glitters; smooth water, you know, sir, runs deepest. I am sorry my young master makes such a fool of himself; but, um!-take my word for it, he is not the Sid. Why, did Constantia meet anybody in this manner? Betty. (Starting with surprise.) O! heavens! I beg, sir, you will not misapprehend me; for I assure you I do not believe they did any harm; that is, not in the grove; at least not when I was there; and she may be honestly married for aught I know. O! lud, sir, I would not say an ill thing of Miss Constantia for the world. I only say that they did meet in the dark walk; and I think I know what's what, when I see it, as well as another. Sid. No doubt you do, Mrs. Betty. Betty. (Going and returning.) I do indeed, sir; and so, your servant, sir. But I hope your worship won't mention my name in this business, or that you had an item from me. Sid. I shall not, Mrs. Betty. Betty. For indeed, sir, I am no busybody, nor do I love fending nor proving; and I assure you, sir, I hate all tittling and tattling, and gossiping, and backbiting, and taking away a person's good name. Sid. I observe you do, Mrs. Betty. Betty. I do indeed, sir; I am the farthest from it in the world. Sid. I dare say you are. Betty. I am indeed, sir; and so your humble servant. Sid. Your servant, Mrs. Betty. Betty. (Aside, in great exultation.) So! I see he believes every word I say-that's charming. I'll do her business for her, I'm resolved. [Exit. [But he did not believe her, and it turned out that the gentleman Constantia met in the grove was her father, returned after a long absence, and hiding from his creditors.] HOW TO GET ON IN THE WORLD. [Sir Pertinax lectures his son Charles Egerton on his conduct towards Lord Lumbercourt, whose daughter he intends him to marry.] Scene, a Library. Enter SIR PERTINAX and EGERTON. Sir P. (In warm resentment.) Zounds! sir, I will not hear a word about it: I insist upon it you are wrong; you should have paid your court till my lord, and not have scrupled swallowing a bumper or twa, or twenty till oblige him. Eger. Sir, I did drink his toast in a bumper. Sir P. Yes, you did; but how, how? just as a bairn takes physic; with aversions and wry faces, which my lord observed: then, to mend the matter, the moment that he and the colonel got intill a drunken dispute about religion, you slyly slunged away. Eger. I thought, sir, it was time to go when my lord insisted upon half-pint bumpers. Sir P. Sir, that was not levelled at you, but at the colonel, in order to try his bottom; but | they aw agreed that you and I should drink out of sma' glasses. Eger. At my own ignorance, sir; for I understand neither the philosophy nor the morality of your doctrine. Sir P. I know you do not, sir; and, what is worse, you never wull understand it, as you proceed; in one word, Charles, I have often told you, and now again I tell you, once for aw, that the manoeuvres of pliability are as necessary to rise in the world as wrangling and logical subtlety are to rise at the bar: why, you see, sir, I have acquired a noble fortune, a princely fortune: and how do you think I raised it? Eger. Doubtless, sir, by your abilities. Sir P. Doubtless, sir, you are a blockhead : nae, sir, I'll tell you how I raised it; sir, I raised it-by booing (bows ridiculously low), by booing: sir, I never could stand straight Eger. But, sir, I beg pardon: I did not in the presence of a great mon, but always choose to drink any more. booed, and booed, and booed—as it were by Sir P. But, zoons! sir, I tell you there was instinct. a necessity for your drinking more. Eger. A necessity! in what respect, pray, sir? Sir P. Why, sir, I have a certain point to carry, independent of the lawyers, with my lord, in this agreement of your marriage; about which I am afraid we shall have a warm squabble; and therefore I wanted your assistance in it. Eger. But how, sir, could my drinking contribute to assist you in your squabble? Sir P. Yes, sir, it would have contributed —and greatly have contributed to assist me. Eger. How so, sir? Sir P. Nay, sir, it might have prevented the squabble entirely; for as my lord is proud of you for a son-in-law, and is fond of your little French songs, your stories, and your bonmots when you are in the humour; and guin you had but staid, and been a little jolly, and drank half a score bumpers with him, till he had got a little tipsy, I am sure, when we had him in that mood, we might have settled the point as I could wish it among ourselves, before the lawyers came: but now, sir, I do not ken what will be the conséquence. Eger. But when a man is intoxicated, would that have been a seasonable time to settle business, sir? Sir P. The most seasonable, sir; for, sir, when my lord is in his cups his suspicion is asleep, and his heart is aw jollity, fun, and guid fellowship; and, sir, can there be a happier moment than that for a bargain, or to settle a dispute with a friend? What is it you shrug up your shoulders at, sir? Eger. How do you mean by instinct, sir? Sir P. How do I mean by instinct! Why, sir, I mean by-by-by the instinct of interest, sir, which is the universal instinct of mankind. Sir, it is wonderful to think what a cordial, what an amicable-nay, what an infallible influence booing has upon the pride and vanity of human nature. Charles, answer me sincerely, have you a mind to be convinced of the force of my doctrine by example and demonstration? Eger. Certainly, sir. Sir P. Then, sir, as the greatest favour I can confer upon you, I'll give you a short sketch of the stages of my booing, as an excitement, and a landmark for you to boo by, and as an infallible nostrum for a man of the world to rise in the world. Eger. Sir, I shall be proud to profit by your experience. Sir P. Vary weel, sir; sit ye down, then, sit you down here. (They sit down.) And now, sir, you must recall to your thoughts that your grandfather was a mon whose penurious income of captain's half-pay was the sum total of his fortune; and, sir, aw my provision fra him was a modicum of Latin, an expertness in arithmetic, and a short system of worldly counsel, the principal ingredients of which were, a persevering industry, a rigid economy, a smooth tongue, a pliability of temper, and a constant attention to make every mon well pleased with himself. Eger. Very prudent advice, sir. Sir P. Therefore, sir, I lay it before you. Now, sir, with these materials I set out a raw tion. Sir P. O! numbers-numbers. boned stripling fra the north, to try my for- | bers of poor creatures in the same conditune with them here in the south; and my first step in the world was a beggarly clerkship in Sawney Gordon's counting-house, here in the city of London: which you'll say afforded but a barren sort of a prospect. Eger. It was not a very fertile one, indeed, ing at the tabernacle in Moorfields. And as sir. Sir P. The reverse, the reverse: weel, sir, seeing myself in this unprofitable situation, I reflected deeply; I cast about my thoughts morning, noon, and night, and marked every mon, and every mode of prosperity; at last I concluded that a matrimonial adventure, prudently conducted, would be the readiest gait I could gang for the bettering of my condition; and accordingly I set about it. Now, sir, in this pursuit, beauty! beauty! ah! beauty often struck my een, and played about my heart, and fluttered, and beat, and knocked, and knocked, but the devil an entrance I ever let it get; for I observed, sir, that beauty is, generally, a proud, vain, saucy, expensive, impertinent sort of a commodity. Eger. Very justly observed. Sir P. And therefore, sir, I left it to prodigals and coxcombs, that could afford to pay for it; and in its stead, sir, mark!—I looked out for an ancient, weel-jointured, superannuated dowager; a consumptive, toothless, phthisicy, wealthy widow; or a shrivelled, cadaverous piece of deformity, in the shape of an izzard, or an appersi-and-or, in short, ainything, ainything that had the siller-the siller for that, sir, was the north star of my affections. Do you take me, sir? was nae that right? Eger. O! doubtless, doubtless, sir. Sir P. Now, sir, where do you think I ganged to look for this woman with the siller? nae till court, nae till playhouses or assemblies; nae, sir, I ganged till the kirk, till the Anabaptist, Independent, Bradlonian, and Muggletonian meetings; till the morning and evening service of churches and chapels of ease, and till the midnight, melting, conciliating love-feasts of the Methodists; and there, sir, at last I fell upon an old, slighted, antiquated, musty maiden, that looked--ha, ha, ha! she looked just like a skeleton in a surgeon's glass case. Now, sir, this miserable object was religiously angry with herself and aw the world had nae comfort but in metaphysical visions and supernatural deliriums-ha, ha, ha! Sir, she was as mad-as mad as a Bedlamite. Eger. Not improbable, sir: there are num Now, sir, this cracked creature used to pray, and sing, and sigh, and groan, and weep, and wail, and gnash her teeth constantly morning and even soon as I found she had the siller, aha! good traith, I plumped me down upon my knees, close by her-cheek by jowl-and prayed, and sighed, and sung, and groaned, and gnashed my teeth as vehemently as she could do for the life of her; ay, and turned up the whites of mine een, till the strings awmost cracked again. I watched her motions, handed her till her chair, waited on her home, got most religiously intimate with her in a week: married her in a fortnight, buried her in a month, touched the siller, and with a deep suit of mourning, a melancholy port, a sorrowful visage, and a joyful heart, I began the world again (rises); and this, sir, was the first boo, that is, the first effectual boo, I ever made till the vanity of human nature. Now, sir, do you understand this doctrine? Eger. Perfectly well, sir. Sir P. Ay, but was it not right? was it not ingenious, and weel hit off? Eger. Certainly, sir: extremely well. Sir P. My next boo, sir, was till your ain mother, whom I ran away with fra the boarding-school; by the interest of whose family I got a guid smart place in the treasury; and, sir, my vary next step was intill parliament, the which I entered with as ardent and as determined an ambition as ever agitated the heart of Cæsar himself. Sir, I booed, and watched, and hearkened, and ran about, backwards and forwards, and attended, and dangled upon the then great mon, till I got into the vary bowels of his confidence; and then, sir, I wriggled, and wrought, and wriggled, till I wriggled myself among the very thick of them. Ha! I got my snack of the clothing, the foraging, the contracts, the lottery tickets, and all the political bonuses, till at length, sir, I became a much wealthier man than one half of the golden calves I had been so long a-booing to: and was nae that booing to some purpose? Eger. It was indeed, sir. Sir P. But are you convinced of the guid effects and of the utility of booing? Eger. Thoroughly, sir. Sir P. Sir, it is infallible. But, Charles, ah! while I was thus booing, and wriggling, and raising this princely fortune, ah! I met honour. Char. Nobody more; for I think you are always by far the finest man in town. But, do you know that I never heard of your extraordinary court, the other night at the opera, to Miss Sprightly? with many heartsores and disappointments by that title, but I don't think I merit the fra the want of literature, eloquence, and other popular abeeleties. Sir, guin I could but have spoken in the house, I should have done the deed in half the time, but the instant I opened my mouth there they aw fell a-laughing at me; aw which deficiencies, sir, I determined, at any expense, to have supplied by the polished education of a son, who I hoped would one day raise the house of MacSycophant till the highest pitch of ministerial ambition. This, sir, is my plan: I have done my part of it, nature has done hers; you are popular, you are eloquent, aw parties like and respect you, and now, sir, it only remains for you to be directed-completion follows. [Egerton, however, was not to be directed to please his father, but married Constantia, after some plotting and counter-plotting among the principal parties concerned.] A BEVY OF LOVERS. (FROM "LOVE À LA MODE.") CHARLOTTE solus. Enter MORDECAI. Mor. (Singing an Italian air, and addressing Charlotte fantastically.) Voi sete molto cortese! anima mia! Here let me kneel and pay my softest adoration; and thus, and thus, in amorous transport, breathe my last! (Kisses her hand.) Char. Ha, ha, ha! softly, softly! You would not, surely, breathe your last yet, Mr. Mordecai? Mor. Why, no, madam; I would live a little longer for your sake. (Bowing very low.) Char. Ha, ha, ha! you are infinitely polite; but a truce with your gallantry. Why, you are as gay as the sun; I think I never saw anything better fancied than that suit of yours, Mr. Mordecai. Mor. Ha, ha!-a-well enough; just as my tailor fancied. Ha, ha, ha! Do you like it, madam? Char. Quite elegant! I don't know any one about town deserves the title of beau better than Mr. Mordecai. Mor. Oh, heavens! madam, how can you be so severe? That the woman has designs, I steadfastly believe; but as to me-oh! Char. Ha, ha, ha! Nay, nay, you must not deny it, for my intelligence is from very good hands. Mor. Pray, who may that be? Mor. Oh, shocking! the common Pasquin of the town; besides, madam, you know he's my rival, and not very remarkable for his veracity in his narrations. Char. Ha, ha, ha! I cannot say he's a religious observer of truth, but his humour always amends for his invention. You must allow he has humour, Mr. Mordecai. Mor. O cuor mio! How can you think so? Bating his scandal, dull, dull as an alderman after six pounds of turtle, four bottles of port, and twelve pipes of tobacco. Char. Ha, ha, ha! Oh! surfeiting, surfeiting! Mor. The man, indeed, has something droll, something ridiculous in him; his abominable Scots acrent, his grotesque visage almost buried in snuff, the roll of his eyes and twist of his mouth, his strange, inhuman laugh, his tremendous periwig, and his manner altogether, indeed, has something so caricaturely risible in it, that—ha, ha, ha!—may I die, madam, if I don't take him for a mountebankdoctor at a Dutch fair. Char. Oh, oh! what a picture has he drawn! Enter a Servant. Ser. Sir Archy MacSarcasm is below, madam. Mor. Don't you think, madam, he is a horrid, foul-mouthed, uncouth fellow? He is worse to me, madam, than assafoetida, or a tallowchandler's shop in the dog-days; his filthy high-dried poisons me, and his scandal is grosser than a hackney news-writer's; madam, he is as much despised by his own country Mor. Oh dear madam, you are very oblig- men as by the rest of the world. The better ing. sort of Scotland never keep him company; Char. I think you are called Beau Mor- but that is entre nous, entre nous. decai by everybody. Sir A. (Without.) Randol, bid Sawney be Mor. Yes, madam; they do distinguish me here wi' the chariot at aught o'clock exactly. |